


The Light and Shadows of Space

by OfWhelpsAndWizards



Category: Warcraft III, World of Warcraft, warcraft- all media types, warlords of draenor
Genre: 30 Days of Writing, Adventure, Alleria and Turalyon have not been seen in years., Camaraderie, Dark, Draenei, F/M, Friendship, Gen, Half-Elf, Humans, Light dark, Lore - Freeform, Love, Necromancers, Orcs, Parent Problems, Parents, Quest, Questions, Thirty Day Challenge, Undead, Warlords, WoD, future cast for other stories, halfelf, light - Freeform, lore poor characters who should be rich, space travel, thirty day writing challenge
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-14
Updated: 2016-01-14
Packaged: 2018-04-27 18:34:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,825
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5059624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OfWhelpsAndWizards/pseuds/OfWhelpsAndWizards
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arator has gotten out of Honor Hold in Outland! Time for some questing, adventure, dragons (?), demons, annoyed undead, and wait, love?!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It was dusk when Arator and Malgor Davidicus made it to Lunarfall Inn, the sky fading from a light lilac to the starry galaxies surrounding Draenor. To many, the skies would be hope, blinding illumination in the darkness; to Arator every star likely had at least one planet, and his parents were somewhere out there traveling in the everlasting abyss. He had hoped that Turlyon and Alleria would be on this version of Draenor, and growing up in Netherguard Keep lead him to believe he could handle anything Outland threw at him. Big mistake, how was he supposed to know the small plant elementals were evil? 

"Arator, the Alliance stronghold is right up this path, we should find a room to board in for the night." Malgor said as he heard a wolf pack howling in the forest. While serene, Shadowmoon Valley did hold many secrets that neither of them wished to experience just yet. 

Upon reaching the gates of the stone town they presented their identification and passports to prove their standing in the Alliance. Many members of the Alliance who were in Outland during the Pandaren campaign disagreed with Jaina's decision to oust the Blood Elves from Dalaran; having friends, and family in Shattrath the two groups had grown close.

The Draenei in the booth stamped the documents, and indicated where the inn was, "You will find the tavern up and to the left of the garrison, may the Light embrace you both." Arator nodded and bowed towards the guard. 

"Light watch over you." He turned around to see Malgor, his most respectable and model teacher making a beeline for the tavern. Audibly smacking his forehead, Arator knew he shouldn't have expected anything different. After all, Malgor's teachings were often given less than sober, and when they weren't in a lesson, or traveling, the ever noble priest was drinking until pickled. "Light give me strength." 

The way to the tavern was nice, the barracks looked crowded, and there were plenty of servants running around like chickens with their heads cut off. The guards were lax while the men and women in the towers stayed on alert. Arator knew it was bad, but he wanted to fight something so he was hoping for an attack, something to test his strength more than a felboar. Anything was better than watching your teacher drink himself under the table. 

Ascending the steps, and entering the realized that he might have to intervene in a fight, or not take part if he wanted a warm room to rest in tonight. The Inn was full of travelers of all shapes, sizes, and races. From Alliance heroes, to a couple Orcs who defected from the Iron Horde, to Draenei on pilgrimage to Karabor. The only two who seemed out of place were Undead standing in the left corner. While one male wore and Argent Crusade tabard and was talking to other crusaders, the female was sullenly watching everyone. She glared daggers at all who passed, evaluating their every move. Noticing the attention, she turned towards Arator, daring him to take a step closer.

Arator was never one for giving up to the impossible, she likely wouldn't kill him for saying hello.

"Glory to the Sunwell, might I ask if any of you have heard anything on the whereabouts of Turlyon or Alleria Windrunner?" Three paladins looked him up and down, and two of them broke out into laughter. 

"They haven't been seen in years, what purpose would they have on an alternate Draenor which has never even seen Azeroth?" Said the pompous knight, his shield taking up the space of two humans. 

Glaring at his companions the Undead male stepped forward. "Remember brothers, all things are possible in the Light. We can never excuse something without perusing it first." Holding a hand out to Arator, he continued, "My name is Leonid Barthalomew the Revered of the Argent Crusade. You may address me as Leonid. And you are?" 

Taking the Undead's bony grasp in friendly shake he replied, "I am Arator the Redeemer of Netherguard Keep. Arator is just fine. Might I ask the names of your compatriots?" 

Pointing to the pompous paladin "Might I introduce the... Eccentric Maximilian of Northshire." 

"Good day to you young Arator, would you be interested in becoming my squire? I have seen many a dragon which I will bring home to my dearest Doloria." 

Bowing slightly, Arator recognized the insanity in the man. "I am already under the watchful eye of Sir Malgor, but may your hunts be fruitful." 

Continuing Leonid pointed to the Dwarf who piped up quickly. "I can introduce myself Leonid. Well met, I am Sir Oralius of the Argent Crusade. I'm here alongside Max to halt the Orcs moving into the Upper Blackrock Spire."

The Undead female raised her head in recognition. "I am Lillian Voss, formerly of the Scarlet Crusade, I am traveling alongside Leonid for the Shadowmoon Burial Grounds." 

Looking at the party of four, it became obvious that they had a tank, three dps, but no healer. "Do you have a healer for these foul dungeons? If not, I may be of assistance." 

Raising what would have been his eyebrows, Leonid smiled what once was a toothy grin. "Of course, we were planning on setting out around daybreak, whenever that is around here. You should talk to your master first to make sure he has no lessons planned." Looking over at Malgor, who was on his eleventh ale, Arator was sure he was going to be traveling by morning. 

"Excuse me then, lady, gentlemen." Waking over to the bar stool, and a rather frightened Gnomish bartender, he patted Malgor on the back. "I am going off adventuring with a party of four tomorrow. May I have your blessing?" Kneeling down, Arator bowed his head. Aloof, Malgor looked at him, smiled and caste a divine shield.

"I can't do much, but it will shield you from at least one attack." The priest fell off his stool, completely out, hiccuping and groggy. Arator helped his teacher to their room, and began his preparations for his journey in the morning. Raising a fist to the air, he uttered a prayer to the Light for a safe journey, and new prospects.


	2. The Dawn Brings No Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The group gets ready to go at daybreak, whenever that is in Shadowmoon. Damn valley.

Chapter Two

A new day was rising over the garrison town, pity there was only one noticeable time of day in Shadowmoon. A gentle wind could be heard through the numerous trees of the purple forests, and the smell of the salty sea awoke Arator from his slumber. Stretching his arms wide in a cat-like mannerism, he thought back to a couple hours prior when he finished his packing. 

To the far right corner there lay two bags, one of the goods he and Davidicus brought to Draenor with them, and a bag of goods he would most likely need during his upcoming adventure. Remembering his paladin training he struggled to contain his glee at escaping the drunken watch of his instructor; after all, he might still very young for an elf (he refused to be called a child, he was thirty damn it! Even if teh were just human years.), all he had ever known was Netherguard keep, and Outland's various outposts. Seeing what once was of his residential wasteland was turning him into quite the tourist. 

As quietly as possible he equipped his Judgement gear, sword, and bags. The gear was not won by him, when the Molten Core was raided he was just an apprentice paladin after all, the gear was left to him by a friend of his father's, Khadgar. On a quest to find his parents, who better to ask than a friend? Too bad the darn Mage turned into a raven every time he got close. 

Heading out the door, he entered the quiet inn, the maids getting everything ready for the coming day, he paid his fee, and went out the door into the morning starlight. 

Two were already outside.

"Hello young one, a fine day for dragon slaying!" Maximilian of Northshire exclaimed with far too much vigor for a day so young; Oralius rested his chin on the hilt of his axe. 

"Good day to you as well." At this the dwarf yawned, quite annoyed. "Good day, it will be a good day when I'm out of this town, too many elleks! I'll get squished sooner or later!"

"I am quite sure there are grandpas beasts everywhere in the daunting new world, all the better for my collection!" That banter between the two Paladins continued for the next few minutes; Arator had grown too accustomed to fights to know where one should be held. Surely enough, Leonid, Lillian, and an angry innkeeper emerged from the barn doorway. 

"WILL YOU BOTH BE QUIET." The stout night elf hollered at the two quarreling men, reduced to quivering children they hurried off to where their mounts were tied. 

"Sorry for the trouble Mam." The woman gave him the look only a person who scrubbed dishes all their life could. 

"No you aren't," with that she went back inside the inn (shutting the door rather violently) to deal with awakened costumers.

Maximilian of Northshire Ned Oralius retired at the most inopportune time. Leonid looked towards the men he had worked with for the last few years of his unlife. "I leave you for five minutes to fetch Lillian." Lillian continued in a hushed, mocking voice.

"Five minutes." This was the first time Arator had seen the young undead anything close to happy, of course it came at the expense of group members, but their's always a catch. As quickly as the smirk appeared it was drowned by her residual expressionless mask. 

"Well, I imagine that first we are heading off to the Shadowmoon Burial Grounds?" At this Leonid perked up from his haunches back to his full height; "Indubitably, the quest both to stop the curse of unseats from spreading during this timeline, and finding a cure to the plague in our own is of the utmost importance. Wouldn't you all agree?" It was more of a statement than a question, the undead warrior was nearly daring the other knights to oppose him.

"But the dragons-" 

"Dragons can wait Max." So it was decided, off to the Shadowmoon Burial grounds; to reach the deconsecrated land they would have to pass through Iron Horde territory, and, more than likely, face spirits of the dead. As Arator mounted his sturdy mare, a Stormwind Palomino, Maximilian of Northshire mounted what appeared to be a chicken, Oralius got on his little (but vicious mind you) ram, Leonid sat upon an Argent Steed, Lillian was on a stallion as black as night. She looked very nice upon it.

Wait, why did he care about her appearance? It was most undignified of him and he quickly cleansed his mind of impure thoughts.

Well, it's good to have three Paladins in a dungeon group.


End file.
